


The S.S. Thiefshipping

by Supersteffy



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series
Genre: Bad Puns, Banter, Dirty Jokes, Drunken Shenanigans, Fade to Black, Groping, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Innuendo, LLF Comment Project, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pirates, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supersteffy/pseuds/Supersteffy
Summary: When Marik drags Bakura on a boat to be pirates for a day, a simple day of adventure and looting takes a turn for the worse. But what the hell? At least there's plenty of booze. Rated for innuendo and slight groping.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a Talk Like a Pirate Day fic, but it took me almost a year to write it, and I'm too impatient to wait. I'll be updating this over the next few Mondays. Thanks to Sitabethel for beta'ing!

Bakura heard banging coming from outside his bedroom door. He tried to ignore it in favor of a few more blissful minutes of sleep, but the bed kept dipping subtly. That was odd, since it usually only did that after a night of heavy drinking and Bakura couldn’t recall getting drunk the night before.

Then a horn blared from somewhere overhead and Bakura bolted from the bed.

“What the fuck?!”

Looking around, Bakura realised that, although he was indeed in a bed, it wasn’t _his_ bed.

The unfamiliar room was a cramped, stained wood affair. A set of steps leading up were built into the wall opposite the bed, and to his right Bakura noticed a small window covered with a white curtain. Dragging himself from the plush double bed, Bakura went and pulled the curtain aside. Nothing but water and fog as far as he could see. Bakura rested his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes.

A boat. He was on a boat he couldn’t remember boarding. That meant either Ryou had wrestled control for a bit, or Marik had dragged him off on some harebrained scheme while he slept. The latter being the more likely of the two, Bakura mentally prepared himself for whatever absurdity he was about to partake in before pushing off from the wall and heading up the stairs to find Marik.

It didn’t take long. Bakura had no sooner topped the steps when Marik appeared like magic. He looked quite a vision in a plum colored admiral’s coat, frothing white belly shirt, beige skin-tight slacks, and thigh high black boots. And to top it all off, a massive, black pirate hat perched atop his blonde locks, stuck through with a gigantic purple feather. Bakura took a moment to simply take it all in.

“Ahoy, Bakura! Blimy! It’s nearly midday. I was beginning to think ye’d never wake up!”

“Marik,” Bakura asked slowly, “Why the hell are we on a boat?”

“Because we’re _pirates_!” Marik shouted, as if that explained everything. Bakura tried again.

“Yes, alright, but _why_ are we pirates?”

“Because pirates are friggin’ awesome!” Marik pumped a fist in the air.

Bakura sighed and rubbed his face. He was not nearly awake enough for this. “I don’t know why I expected a logical response.”

“Aw, where’s your sense of fun, Fluffy?”

“I must have left it back on dry land,” he muttered.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I got you a hat, too.”

Marik pulled a second hat from his hammerspace. Bakura looked between the brown, triangular hat Marik offered him and Marik’s much larger black one. “Why’s yours so much bigger?”

“The captain always has the biggest hat, Bakura! That’s how you know he’s the captain.” Marik slapped the hat on Bakura’s head, but it didn’t fit well over his tufts of hair and fell to the deck. Marik frowned at Bakura’s white mane. “Your hair is a problem.”

Ignoring that, Bakura asked, “Who said you could be the captain, anyway?”

“The crew! We voted while you slept. It was unanimous. But you get to be my first mate!”

“Bollocks to that! I want a revo--wait, what crew?”

For the first time, Bakura looked around the upper deck.

There were a few random men and one woman spread out along the vessel. Each “crew member” had on a third-rate pirate costume that would have looked right at home in a high school performance of Pirates of Penzance. Foam cutlasses adorned every sashed hip, and tall, dark boots crawled up each pair of legs. Most had a bandana on their head, as well as an eye patch, fake hook-hand, or in the case of the helmsman, a stuffed Parrot Dragon on his shoulder.

“Let me guess--your Steves?”

“Haha! _Yes_ \--I mean, _aye_!” Marik pointed to each of the “crew” in turn, who were mostly standing about in a daze. ”That guy at the wheel is Navigator Steve, and the guy by the railing is Lookout Steve, and that’s Cabin Boy Steve with the fishing pole, and the girl at the bar is Steve the Wench.”

“Wait, her name is Steve, too?”

“Don’t be sexest, Bakura! Girls can be named Steve!” Marik leaned close and spoke in a loud whisper behind his hand. “Actually, her name is Stevie, but I convinced her to let us call her Steve so the Rod would work on her. She worked as a bartender, so she makes the best drinks!”

Bakura gave the bar a wistful once-over. “I could use one of those.”

“Good idea! Wench! Bring First Mate Bakura and I two flaggans o’ your best grog!”

Steve did as she was bid, and Bakura sniffed at the foamy drink before taking a sip. He thought it was good, if bland, but Marik apparently didn’t find the drink to his taste.

“Ugh, this tastes like toilet water!”

“Actually, it tastes like watered down rum, which is what grog is.” Bakura took another sip and shrugged. It wasn’t great, but it could have been worse.

“I can’t believe pirates drink this stuff!”

“Would you like something else, Master Marik?” Wench Steve droned.

“Yeah, something that’s actually good! What do you suggest?”

“How about a Screaming Orgasm?”

Bakura choked and sputtered on his grog.

‘Geez, Bakura, don’t inhale it!” Marik scolded, slapping Bakura’s back until he waved him off, his face simmering. Turning back to Steve, Marik asked, “What’s it got in it?”

“It’s made with vodka, Kahlua, and Irish Cream.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty good,” Marik decided. “What do you think, Bakura? Do you want a Screaming Orgasm?”

“Only if you’re the one giving it to me," Bakura muttered, wiping ineffectually at his shirt.

“What was that?”

“I said, sounds good.”

Steve nodded, then snatched Bakura’s mug away before meandering back to the bar.

“So do we actually have an objective? Besides getting loaded to the gunwalls, that is.”

“Aye! We assail any ships we encounter and plunder their booty!”

Bakura gazed dolefully out at the foggy horizon. “I don’t think we’ll be running into too many other people,” he confessed. Then he grinned, eyeing Marik sidelong. “But you can plunder my booty anytime.”

“Pirates don’t steal from other pirates, Bakura. That’s against the code.”

Bakura went to retort, but Steve came back at that moment with fresh drinks. “Your drinks, Master Marik.”

“That’s _Captain_ Master Marik!”

Ignoring him, the Steve went back to cleaning the bar, and Bakura picked up his hat and walked with Marik over to the booth-like table that sat between the bar and the helm.

“So, where exactly is, uh, Navigator Steve taking us?”

“To adventure!”

Bakura fought the urge to throttle Marik, instead gulping at his drink. This one tasted better, ridiculous name aside. It was strong, at any rate.

“Ok, but where is he driving us? How long have we been at sea?”

“A few hours. We would have shipped out sooner, but _somebody_ refused to wake up. I had to have the Steves carry you to the boat.”

“And our destination?”

“We don’t have one.”

“Well, where’s the map?”

“Right here.”

Marik pulled out a piece of papyrus and handed it to Bakura.

“Marik, this is just a long, curvy line with an X on it. I meant the real map.”

“Silly Kitty. That’s the only map we need! See, the X is where the treasure is!”

Bakura set his drink down, his gut roiling. “Wait, so are you telling me we don’t have a map?”

“I told you, _that is_ the--”

“ _Don’t_ fuck with me, Marik!”

Marik huffed and folded his arms over his frilly shirt. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“This map is useless for navigation! We could be anywhere in the bloody ocean!”

“We’ll be fine,” Marik assured him with all of the confidence of a man blinded by his own delusions. “I instructed Navigator Steve to bring us back home if we didn’t find any treasure by day’s end.”

A muscle jumped in Bakura’s jaw, and he fought to unclench his teeth. “And _how_ exactly is he supposed to get us back home when he doesn’t know where we are?”

“He’s the Navigator, Bakura. He knows exactly where we are. Isn’t that right, Navigator Steve?” Marik added, shouting toward the helm.

“Yes, Master Marik.”

Marik puffed out his chest triumphantly. “ _See_!”

Bakura shook his head. “Alright then. Navigator Steve, where are we?”

The Steve continued to stare off into the fog.

“Uh, Marik?”

“You are to answer First Mate Bakura, Steve!”

“Yes, Master Marik. We are on a boat.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Bakura snapped. “Where is the boat currently located?”

“In the Pacific Ocean.”

Bakura’s blood pressure was increasing by the second. At this rate, he’d give Ryou a heart attack before his eighteenth birthday. “ _Where_ in the Pacific Ocean?”

“...the Pacific Ocean,” Steve repeated.

Bakura threw his hands up. “URGH! Fan-bloody-fucking-tastic!”

Marik huffed and picked up Bakura’s abandoned tankard before shoving it into his chest.

“Will you relax? Here. Drink this.”

Bakura wanted to scream at Marik for getting them hopelessly lost, but since that would only make Marik pouty and even less reasonable, Bakura gave in and drank. They sat in silence. Only the sounds of water lapping at the hull and Wench Steve cleaning dishes could be heard.

Marik cleared his throat loudly, his fingers fidgeting with his cup. “So…” He glanced at Bakura, who stared ahead. “You wanna see something cool?”

Bakura lifted an eyebrow but made no other indication he was listening.

“I taught them some pirate jargon!” Standing up, Marik cupped his hands around his mouth. “Alright ye yellow bellied scallywags! Heave to and lend an ear.” The Steves all stopped what they were doing and faced Marik, awaiting orders. Marik beamed. “Hoist the Jolly Roger you gutless curs, and bring a spring upon ‘er, Navigator Steve.”

“Uh, Marik, this is a motor-powered yacht. It doesn’t have rigging for a pirate flag.”

Despite that, the Steves hopped to. Navigator Steve turned back to manning the wheel and staring out into nothing. Wench Steve procured a rope from behind the bar while the two others brought up a sheet from the cabin below. In quick order they had a makeshift, purple satin flag with a golden, modified skull and crossbones flapping from a railing. The skull of the design was as expected, however, the lower half wasn’t so much “crossbones” and two crossed Millennium Rods.

“Excellant!”

Bakura’s anger and frustration fractured. He hid a reluctant smirk with a quaff from his cup.

“Alright ye sorry sea dogs,” Marik shouted. “All hands on deck!”

Quick as a thought, the Steves pulled Duel Disks from their hammerspace, fingers primed and ready to draw.

Bakura broke out in peals of laughter.

“I--that's--NO! I mean assemble!”

“These Steves make even you look sharp,” Bakura panted, catching his breath back. He was grinning, and when Marik saw it he grinned back.

“Heh, I guess I should have seen that one coming. Okay, as you were, lads.”

The Steves dispersed back to their default tasks.

“As entertaining as that was,” Bakura said as Marik reclaimed his seat, “it’s not all that useful.”

Marik flicked his bangs in irritation. “Well, Mr. All-Work-And-No-Play. What would you have me teach them?”

“Something that would help us get back to bloody shore would be nice.”

Marik glared. “For frig sake! What do you want me to do? Order all the Steves to abandon ship and go find help?” As soon as the words were out, Marik’s face fell, panic in his eyes. “Uh-oh.”

Bakura didn’t even have time to wonder “what now?” before the Steves began milling about.

Marik jumped to his feet. “Wait! Belay that!”

But the Steves weren’t listening anymore. Navigator Steve killed the engine. Wench Steve pulled what looked like an air mattress from behind the bar. Her and the other two Steves dragged it out into the open while Marik ran and tried to yank it away from them. Wench Steve ripped a cord on the side mid-struggle and the thing inflated itself.

“I said _stop_!”

Ignoring Marik, she threw it overboard before jumping after it. The other Steves followed suit, like lemmings off a cliff.

Marik jumped up and down shouting, “Stop, _stop_ , STOP!” but the Steves were already lost in the fog.

“You can’t leave,” he called after them. “This is _mutiny_! Damn it, Bakura! They stole the cockboat!”

“The _what_?!”

“The dingy! They took the only lifeboat!”

“This isn’t even a real ship! It’s a yacht. Why the hell did it have a dingy?”

Marik’s hands planted on his hips. “In case of emergencies, duh! Plus it's like that one meme. Yo dog, I heard you like boats, so we put a dingy on your yacht so you can boat while you boat.”

Bakura glowered at Marik and reminded himself that Marik was too sexy to kill out of frustration.

“Then go after them!”

“I can’t! Navigator Steve took the boat keys.”

“Then get. Them. Back. Here!”

“I tried! Weren’t you watching? They’re carrying out the first order I gave them.”

“Which was?”

“To leave and get help. So all we have to do is wait for them to come back with a search party.”

“And how long will that take?”

“Depends on the Steve, usually. But with all four of them carrying out the same order, they’ll either find help in record time or…”

Bakura raised an eyebrow, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. “Or. _What_?” he ground out.

“Or they’ll get in each other's way and it will take ten times longer.”

“Great. Just bloody great! You decided on a whim to drag me out treasure hunting, and now we’re stranded in the middle of the fucking ocean!”

“Well, at least it’s better than the desert.”

“How do you figure?”

“There’s plenty of water, so we won’t get thirsty!”

“The ocean is mostly salt, Marik. You can’t drink it.”

“Oh.” Marik looked stumped for a second, then his lilac eyes brightened. “There's also alcohol!”

Bakura sighed. “That won’t help with dehydration, but if we’re going to die anyway, might as well get shitfaced first.”

With thoughts of drinking himself to oblivion running through his mind, Bakura downed his drink and headed for the bar to make another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I'm posting this a day earlier than I planned since I had the time today. Enjoy! Thanks again to Sitabethel for beta'ing!

“Don’t worry, Bakura!” Marik said cheerfully from his stool across the bar. “I have complete confidence that the Steves will come through!”

“That makes one of us,” Bakura grumbled, perusing the myriad bottles of liquor the bar had to offer.

“What are you making?”

“I don't know, but whatever it is, it's going to be strong.”

“I've heard Anal Sex is good.”

Bakura's hand slipped on the bottle he was sniffing and it knocked over. He began cursing as a portion spilled on the counter.

“Man, you're accident prone today.”

Bakura glared at Marik's naïve smile.

“I'm going to assume you're referring to a beverage?”

“Of course! Straight men don't have anal sex, Bakura.”

“Some do, just with women.”

Marik ignored him. “But Steve the Wench told me a Cum Shot is really good too. She was telling me all the crazy drinks people like to order.”

Bakura smirked. “I hear it's customary to drink a Cum Shot as a chaser to a Blow Job.”

“I don't know, that sounds like an awful lot of Irish Cream.”

“Depends on the blow job,” Bakura added under his breath.

He finished mixing his shot of raspberry vodka, coconut rum, and blue curacao--appropriately named Blue Balls--and promptly downed it.

“Hey, Bakura.”

Bakura glanced at him.

“Pouuuuuur me something tall and strong,” Marik sang. “Make it a Hurricane, before for I go insane!”

“Too late for that,” Bakura mumbled.

“Seriously, though, Fluffy. Make me a drink.”

“What do you want?”

“Mmm....a Slow Screw.”

 _That makes two of us_ , Bakura thought, but said, “I don't know how to make that.”

“I think Wench Steve left a list of drinks there somewhere.”

Bakura searched among the bottles and mixology tools before finding a notebook with handwritten cocktail recipes. Every single beverage listed had a dirty, rude, or suggestive name.

“Uhhhh, Marik. Where did you say Wench Steve bartended?”

“I don't remember the name of the place. All I know is it must have been pretty poorly built, because it had a lot of poles to keep the roof from caving in.”

“Well, that explains the drink list.” Bakura grinned as he glanced over the impressive collection. “How about a Leg Spreader?” he suggested, caught suddenly in a fantasy of himself spread eagled on the deck with Marik driving into him. The thought alone had his dick hardening.

“Is it fruity?”

“What?” Bakura blinked at Marik.

“A Leg Spreader. Is it fruity?”

“Ummm…” Bakura skimmed over the recipe. “Yes, it’s got peach schnapps, pineapple juice, coconut rum, and white rum. On second thought, perhaps that’s a bit strong for you.”

“Didn’t you hear my song?” Marik demanded, all ruffled feathers. “I _want_ something strong.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m the one who’s going to be handling your drunk ass.” Bakura’s cheeks heated at the unintentional double entendre, but Marik waved him off, oblivious as usual.

“Nonsense! A true pirate can hold his liquor.”

Bakura was going to point out that a true pirate wouldn’t have ordered such a froofy drink. He decided against it and started mixing. He made his own quite strong, but knowing his bumbling partner, he made Marik’s half pineapple juice.

“See how that tastes.”

Marik took a testing sip and beamed. “Perfect! You make a decent bartender.”

“High praise, indeed.” Grabbing his own mug, he followed Marik back to their table.

“So what now?” Bakura asked. The fog seemed to have grown even thicker now that they weren’t moving, but perhaps that was his imagination. The opaque mist put him in mind of the Shadows, and he suppressed a shiver.

“We could sing sea chanteys!”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“Okay then how about a drinking game?’’

Bakura perked up at that. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Marik got up and grabbed a couple of tankards from the bar and some dice he’d apparently stashed there.

“We should play Liar’s Dice! That’s the dice game Orlando Bloom plays in the movie!”

“Do you know the rules?”

“Yeah, you just guess how many of the dice are on a certain number and keep increasing the number on the dice, the quantity of the dice, or both. And ones are wild.”

“And we drink when we lose?”

“Yep!”

“Sounds good to me.”

Marik won the first few rounds while Bakura got used to the rules. Unfortunately for Marik, much like poker or Duel Monsters, bluffing and reading your opponent had just as much impact on deciding the winner as lucky dice rolls. It didn’t take long before Bakura was beating Marik soundly, Marik’s reactions giving him away every round and only getting easier to read with every drink.

“Frigging hell, Bakura! How do you keep winning?”

Bakura grinned and finished off his cup for the hell of it. “You should know better than to challenge me to a game of deception--especially when dice are involved.”

Marik glared accusingly at him. “You aren’t cheating are you?”

Bakura snorted and rose to make another drink, Marik following with his own mug. “I don’t need to cheat. You’re telegraphing your lies on your face. It’s a wonder the Pharaoh’s fan club didn’t catch on to you immediately in Battle City.”

Marik scoffed. “Yeah, but those fools would believe Hitler was Pegasus if he wore a wig and gave them free trading cards.”

Bakura let out a surprised laugh. “You know, that was actually a decent insult, Marik.”

Marik flicked a look from under his bangs and blushed. “Of course! All of my insults are top notch! I only deliver the creme de la creme of insults! Put more of the white rum in there,” he added.

“I put plenty in there,” Bakura assured him, but Marik shook his head and came around the bar.

“Fine, you drink that. I’ll make myself something else.”

Bakura frowned and stared as Marik began doing just that, pulling lemon juice and a single serve bottle of champagne out of the mini fridge below. It wasn’t like Marik to do _anything_ himself. He usually ordered, begged, and whined until others did exactly what he wanted.

“Is this what you’re like drunk?”

Marik snorted. “As if two drinks could be the undoing of Marik Sebastian Ishtar III!”

“Uh-huh…” Bakura studied Marik’s profile as he concentrated on making some brilliantly turquoise concoction. His cheeks were tinged maroon, but his eyes didn’t have the glazed look of a drunk man.

Marik tasted the drink, then added another glug of vodka.

“What is that?”

Marik grinned and presented the glass to Bakura like a child showing off a craft he’d made at school.

“It’s called a Midnight Kiss! Want to try it?”

“Uh, sure.” Bakura sipped cautiously at the blue liquid. His eyes widened. “That’s good, actually.”

“Psh. Of course it’s good! _I_ made it.”

Bakura shook his head and returned to the table.

“So,” Marik started as he shimmied into the booth once more, “what now?”

“We could play the game some more,” Bakura suggested. “But this time we should strip when we lose.”

“You’re only saying that because you keep winning.”

Once again Bakura was stricken by Marik’s uncharacteristic perception.

“How is it that the more we drink, the more observant you become?”

“Please, Bakura! My observation skills are, and always have been, beyond reproach!”

“Whatever you say. Are we playing or not?”

Marik shrugged. “Why not? Not much else to do.”

Bakura had a top 100 list of things he could suggest they do, but he kept it to himself and picked up his cup of dice.

They played silently for a few rounds, and Marik managed to beat him a couple times. As they played, the alcohol warmed their cheeks, and Bakura felt his tongue loosen. He didn’t gave in immediately--it was a rare occasion that Marik was quiet, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted--but eventually the urge to talk outweighed his need for silence.

“Why did you decide we should become pirates today, anyway?”

Marik shrugged. “Guess I just wanted to do something fun. Even villains deserve a day off now and then, right? But I’ve been thinking on how to defeat the Pharaoh once we get back…”

The alcohol chose that moment to hit Bakura all at once. It seemed too much work to try and follow Marik’s absurd logic at that moment, so instead Bakura focused on the way Marik’s lips worked as he yammered on about swapping Yugi’s deck with Pokémon cards.

The utter _want_ that seemed to be a constant ache in Bakura swelled. _Lust_ , Bakura told himself. But as the alcohol flowed through his system, the part of him that he meticulously kept smothered whispered, as seductively as the Shadows, that there was more to the wanting than that.

“Ba- _kura_! Are you even listening to me?”

Bakura’s face heated--from the alcohol--and he thanked Zorc his name wasn’t Steve, because he really didn’t want Marik to know his thoughts right then.

“Uh, yes...replace his deck. Good idea, Marik.”

Marik tried to do his evil genius laugh, but it came out as more of a pleased giggle.

“ _Yes_! He will no longer be able to duel because all of his cards will be for a different game.”

“He’d probably still find a way to win.” Bakura sighed, taking another glug of alcohol even as he told himself he should stop while he was ahead.

“Way to be a Debbie Downer, Fluffy. You just said my plan was good.”

Hearing the petulant note in Marik’s voice, Bakura avoided looking back at the puppy-dog eyes he knew Marik had adopted.

“Yes, well, after 3,000 years of fighting a losing battle, one does tend to get a bit disheartened.”

Marik sipped his drink, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well...perhaps we should talk about something else. After all, we are on vacation today.”

Bakura raised his glass in a mocking salute before downing a third of it. “So then. What shall we talk about?”

Marik thought for a second. “If you could only choose one of the following, which would it be: love, money, power, or revenge?”

Bakura blinked at him. “What sort of a question is that?”

Marik shrugged. “It’s just a hypothetical.”

“Is the thing I choose guaranteed?”

Marik nodded. “But it’s like a spell. You can only choose one, and all the ones you don’t pick you can never have.”

“Hmmm. So I can’t use the thing I pick to get all of the others?”

“No, that’s cheating.”

“Well, then power’s out--what’s the point in having power if it can’t be used to get you the others? And I’ve never thought money was all that important…”

“Kaiba would disagree with you.”

Bakura snorted. “Yeah, but he’s already got both money and power.” Bakura thought hard about the remaining two options. “I’m not sure which I’d pick, honestly.”

“Really?” Marik asked, surprise clear in his eyes. “I thought for sure you’d pick revenge without hesitation.”

Bakura swallowed, the alcohol making his mouth speak before he’d even thought his answer through. “Guaranteed revenge sounds like everything I’ve always wanted, but I’ve never known love, and what’s the point in achieving revenge if I don’t have someone to share the victory with?”

Marik nodded, finishing his drink.

“What about you?” Bakura asked after a long silence. “Which would you choose?”

Marik’s dark complexion reddened a touch as he stared out at the gray surrounding them. “I’d choose love,” he said quietly.

“Really? Just like that? Even if it meant foregoing revenge on the Pharaoh?”

“When I first began plotting my revenge, I probably would have chosen that, but now…” Marik trailed off and bit his lip.

Bakura leaned closer, his heart pattering. “Now what?”

Marik glanced at Bakura, then down at his empty mug before getting up. “I need a refill. I grab you one too,” he added, spiriting away Bakura’s glass.

Bakura watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Random keyboard mashing because words could never adequately convey your feels
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments and tries to reply to all of them.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at posting on a schedule, so here's the last part a day early. Hope you like it! A final thanks to Sitabethel for beta'ing!

They chatted and drank until the light dimmed around them, the sun setting behind the curtain of fog.

“Well, so much for the rescue party,” Bakura muttered, finishing off another drink.

It seemed like Marik had scooted closer to him everytime they’d returned to the booth, and Bakura had found himself fighting the urge to touch him more and more as the night approached.

Marik leaned in close, his lips almost brushing Bakura’s ear. Bakura could smell the vodka and blue curacao on his breath. “Hey, Bakura?”

“Yes?” He said quietly, keeping his breath steady.

“Would you like a Midnight Kiss?”

Bakura swallowed and tried to say, “No, I’m good” but found himself instead saying, “How about something stronger?”

Marik grinned, and in Bakura’s drunken state, it looked far more calculating than it should have.

“Alright.” Marik took their glasses back to the bar.

Bakura leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart with slow, steady breaths. Goddamn Ryou and his fucking teenage hormones.

“You’re not passing out on me are you?”

Bakura opened his eye as Marik sat back down, this time close enough for Bakura to feel his body heat. Marik had lost the coat, leaving only the thin, frilly crop top covering his toned chest.  Bakura’s pulse picked up again. Avoiding Marik’s striking eyes, Bakura frowned at the drink Marik had brought him.

“Thought you weren’t making the Midnight Kiss.”

“It’s not a Midnight Kiss, but it’s got the blue curacao so it’s a similar color. This one’s my favorite drink! And even though it doesn’t taste it, it’s got five types of liquor in it.”

Bakura picked up the drink and sniffed it. “And what ridiculous name does this one have?”

“It’s called a Blue Motorcycle.”

“That’s not even a suggestive name.”

“It is when you ask someone if they’d like to take a ride on your Blue Motorcycle,” Marik corrected, taking a large sip of his own.

Bakura stared at Marik like he’d suddenly transformed into Melvin. “Okay, what the bloody hell is going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, alcohol usually makes people dumber, yet you’re acting more rational the longer we drink!”

Marik smirked. “You don’t need alcohol to make you dumb, Fluffy.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Marik flapped a flippant hand. “Only that you fail to see how utterly brilliant I really am.”

“Yeah, because it was so brilliant of you to get us stranded on a boat with little chance for escape.”

“But now we can be alone.”

“We live together. We're alone all the time!”

“True, but this is far more fun!”

“Oh yes, I'm just thrilled to bits.”

Marik’s eyes went huge suddenly. “Ooh! I have an idea. Give me your hand.” Marik held his own palm out expectantly.

“Why?” Bakura asked, suspicion in his voice and a strange fluttering in his stomach.

“Because I want to show you something cool!”

Bakura raised a questioning eyebrow, but did as Marik said.

“I'm going to pull a string out of your hand.”

Bakura quirked an eyebrow at that and grinned, intrigued. “Interesting.”

“Okay, make a fist and squeeze it as tight as you can,” Marik instructed, folding Bakura’s fingers closed. Bakura squeezed. “Harder. Now hold it.”

Bakura swallowed as Marik rubbed the warm pads of his fingers over Bakura’s fist. It wasn’t an erotic touch, but his body interpreted it that way regardless.

“Now slowly open your hand and lay it palm up on the table.” Bakura obeyed, watching Marik intently. “Now watch my fingers.”

Marik drew two fingers from Bakura’s wrist to the center of his palm, pinched them together, then lifted. Bakura sucked in a breath, then released it in a startled laugh when it felt like an invisible string was pulled from his hand.

“Neat trick,” Bakura praised.

“It’s not a trick--it’s magic!”

Bakura snorted. “Marik, we’ve both seen and used real magic. That was an illusion--a fun illusion, granted, but an illusion nonetheless.”

“Just because it’s not a magic you’re familiar with doesn’t make it not magic,” Marik defended.

“Perhaps it’s your hands that are magic.”

Said hands stilled on his for a moment before stroking his palm with renewed intent.

“If you thought _that_ was enchanting, you should see what other wonders my hands are capable of.”

A jolt of sensation shot up Bakura’s arm and to his groin. Reflexively he jerked away, his arm upending his Blue Motorcycle and sloshing it all over the table and his lap. “Oh, goddamn it all!”

“Now look what you did!” Marik hopped up and grabbed a stack of napkins and seltzer water from the bar. “You’re just making messes all over the place tonight, Fluffy.”

Marik took a few of the napkins and doused them in the water before beginning to pat at Bakura’s crotch.

Bakura gasped. “Marik, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cutting you off. I think you’ve had enough.”

“No, I mean--I can do that myself.”

Marik didn’t seem to be listening.

“I mean, you’re supposed to be Mr. Big-Badass-Lord-of-the-Shadows, but you can’t even handle a few drinks. Man, I thought seltzer water was supposed to be good for getting out stains...”

Marik wet more napkins and began rubbing the stains in earnest. Bakura gripped the table and held in a moan as his cock swelled and twitched.

“Marik,” he panted. “Stop. I-It’s fine. The jeans are blue anyway.”

“Yeah, but not this blue.”

“I have other pants, just-- _please_!” Bakura’s hand clamped down on Marik’s as another shock of pleasure ran up his shaft. A few seconds more of this and his pants would be even messier.

Marik stared at the hand pinning his own to Bakura’s crotch. Then his stunning eyes, reflecting confusion and the bar’s tiki lights, met Bakura’s. The breath rushed from Bakura’s lungs as he stared back.

“But I’ve almost rubbed it out,” Marik pouted, moving their hands to reveal the less-noticeable blue smear and completely ignoring the much-too-obvious bulge beneath it.

Bakura closed his eyes and fought a wave of disappointment that bordered on physically painful at the lost contact. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just leave it.”

Marik huffed but sat back again and took a sip of his own drink. “Fine, but don’t complain to me when you get teased for having a blue crotch.”

Little did Marik know, Bakura’s crotch was blue most of the time anyway.

“You’re the only other person here, Marik,” Bakura reminded him. Then he sighed and rubbed his face. “Perhaps I should just go to bed.”

“Good idea, Fluffy! Let’s go to bed.”

Bakura groaned inwardly. He’d hoped Marik would stay on the upper deck so he could take care of his blue crotch himself, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Things never were with Marik. If Bakura was lucky he’d pass out quickly from the alcohol.

Marik got out of the booth and scampered toward the stairs leading down to the cabin. Bakura followed slower, pausing at the bar to grab two bottles of water from the mini fridge.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Bakura found Marik sprawled over the bed on his stomach, and Bakura’s eyes glued to where his beige pants hugged his ass. The ache in his balls deepened.

Setting the waters on the stand beside the bed, Bakura flopped down beside Marik with a sigh.

“Scoot over, you’re hogging the bed,” he grumbled.

“This is the Captain’s quarters, therefore, the Captain gets the majority of the bed.”

“Bollocks to that. Scoot over or I’m pushing you off the bed.”

Marik sat up and poked Bakura’s chest. “Behave, Bakura, or I’ll make you kiss the gunner’s daughter!”

Bakura settled into the space Marik had vacated and closed his eyes. “I’d much rather kiss you.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Marik responded automatically. Then his brain seemed to register what Bakura had said. “Wait, _what_?”

Bakura chuckled, his body buzzing from the alcohol clouding his brain. “You heard me.”

Marik was quiet for a long time, and eventually Bakura opened his eyes to find Marik staring down at him.

“What?”

Marik licked his lips slowly. Then, faster than Bakura could react, he leaned down and kissed Bakura, just a quick press of lips before pulling away again. Despite the speed and chasteness of the kiss, Bakura found himself breathing heavily.

“Did you mean like that?” Marik asked, voice low and a touch smokey.

“Not...exactly. I was thinking more like this.”

Bakura sat up and pulled Marik to him by his ridiculous, frilly shirt. Their mouths collided a bit crooked, but Bakura didn’t care, because suddenly Marik’s hands were in his hair, smoothing over his chest, tugging up his shirt. Bakura made sure to extricate the Ring from his shirt as Marik pulled it off and tossed it away.

Bakura tried to remove Marik’s shirt, but Marik slapped his hands away and push him down on the bed. Marik smirked and massaged his fingers slowly over the bulge in Bakura’s damp jeans, and Bakura couldn’t stop the desperate moan he made.

Bakura panted and tried to process this sudden shift in dynamic, but all the alcohol was rushing in his head while all his blood fled south. He couldn’t focus on anything but the warm feel of Marik’s hand through the sodden denim.

“Marik,” Bakura moaned, his hips rolling up into Marik’s touch, begging for more.

“You never did tell me which you would choose.”

“What?”

“Love or revenge,” Marik clarified. “If you could only have one, which would it be?”

Bakura knew what Marik wanted him to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Marik’s hand stopped moving and Bakura groaned.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?”

Bakura looked away. “You want me to say I’d give up my revenge for love, but I can’t. Even if I wanted to, there’s too much at stake--and the script’s already been written. I’ve got a part to play, same as you.”

A warm, dark hand turned Bakura’s face toward Marik’s, their lips a breath apart.

“I know,” Marik murmured. “And if you could have both?”

Bakura’s breath grew thready. “Like I said before, what’s the point in getting revenge if there’s no one there to share it with?”

Marik smiled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Bakura blushed and looked past Marik’s shoulder. “You already know, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

“Knowing it and hearing it aren’t the same thing, Bakura.”

Bakura swallowed hard. His pulse thrummed throughout his whole body. “I-I…”

“Say it,” Marik whispered, his lips ghosting over Bakura’s, “and I’ll give you everything you’ve been wanting.”

The word _wanting_ had his chest filling with emotions he tried so hard-- _so hard_ \--to repress. The cracks in his soul felt raw under Marik’s scrutiny, unused to anything that wasn’t hatred, anger, and pain. He wanted so much--things he’d told himself he’d never have. He wanted Marik’s hands on him again, and Marik’s tongue against his. He wanted to feel their hearts competing as moved together. And more than that, more than the lust, he wanted to know who Marik was-- _really_ was, underneath the idiotic mask he wore.

He wanted _Marik_.

“I...love you.”

The words were hardly more than air, lost to the restless rustling of the water breaking against the sides of the yacht, but Marik felt the breath of them against his mouth. Surging forward, he buried his hands in Bakura’s untamable waterfall of white hair and dragged their lips together again.

Bakura groaned and pulled Marik against him, his hands kneading the ass he’d admired more times than he could remember.

“I love you, too, Bakura,” Marik whispered, pressing their foreheads together. Then he sat up suddenly, his demeanor shifting on a dime. “Hey, guess what? I’ve been practicing my sailor’s knots!”

Bakura chuckled and tweaked Marik’s bangs. “Well, we wouldn’t want all that practice to go to waste, would we? Tie me to the bedpost?”

Marik smirked and produced a rope from somewhere under the bed. “And here I thought I was the one who could read minds.” He leaned down to talk against Bakura’s ear. “Are you ready for me to shiver your timbers?”

Despite the corniness of the line, Bakura did indeed feel himself shiver. “Aye aye, Captain…”

 

X

 

They awoke the next morning to footsteps on the upper deck, and Bakura sighed into Marik’s hair, burying his face deeper into Marik’s neck.

“Show a leg, Bakura! I think the Steve’s are back.”

Marik’s voice was far too loud for--whatever time it was, and Bakura clapped a hand over his mouth.

“If you keep quiet maybe they’ll go away.”

Marik pulled Bakura’s hand away then rolled out from underneath him, and Bakura fell to the mattress with a grunt. “If they really did bring help, do you seriously want them to find us down here in nothing but our birthday suits? Not that we have anything to hide. We look damn sexy--although I’m clearly the sexiest.”

Bakura groaned but knew Marik was right: he didn’t relish the idea of whomever the Steve’s brought back walking in on them in their altogether. Rolling off the bed, he tracked down his scattered clothing. Once they were clothed, Marik led them up the stairs, and Bakura ran into him when he stopped at the top of the steps.

“What the hell?” Bakura pushed Marik aside but he, too, froze when he got to the top. “Marik…”

“Yeah?”

“You never untied the boat, did you?”

“Uh, looks like no.”

The fog from the previous day had dispersed, showing the yacht clearly secured to the dock, the abandoned dingy the Steves had commandeered tied a short distance away. Said Steves were currently standing listlessly around the boat’s deck, Odion standing beside them with his usual stoic expression. The ‘help’ Bakura assumed.

“Did it _really_ require all four of them simply to go grab Odion?”

“I know!” Marik rallied. “They could have at least brought food back while they were at it. I’m famished!”

Bakura rubbed at his head, which had miraculously avoided a hangover headache, but was beginning to throb for new reasons.

“You know what? Sod this! We haven’t done anything remotely piratical on this trip since we set sail yesterday-- _and we never even set sail!_ ” Bakura swiped the jaunty hat from Marik’s head and placed it on his own.

“Hey! That’s my hat,” Marik pouted.

Bakura smirked, dodging Marik’s attempts to snatch the hat back. “Well now it’s _my_ hat. You, Marik Sebastian Ishtar III, are a terrible pirate Captain--and I’m relieving you of your command.”

“Wait! Where are you going?” Marik called after him as Bakura stormed over to the dock.

“I going to do what _real_ pirates do,” Bakura bellowed, a roguish grin spread across his lips.

And then he drew a dagger and preceded to take command of the yacht docked beside theirs.

Marik blinked around at Odion and his Steves, who all blinked back, awaiting orders.

“Well, you heard Captain Bakura,” Marik called. “No prey, no pay! Let’s plunder these landlubbers fer all their worth. Smartly lads!”

And the Steves obeyed, swarming the empty deck of the other yacht, swinging from the “rigging” and drawing their foam cutlasses apathetically against the comically confused middle aged couple attempting to set sail. Bakura grinned as he ordered the Steves to tie up the captives and loot the ship.  Marik joined Bakura on the deck of the rival vessel, grinning as he watched the mayhem unfold.

“You know,” Bakura said, watching one of the Steves make off with a blender and cart his loot back to the “ship”. “Of all the ridiculous misadventures you’ve dragged me on, I believe this one is my favorite. Perhaps we should take vacations more often.”

“It’s funny,” Marik said, slipping his hand into Bakura’s. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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